


Time goes by

by Aednat_the_Fourteenth



Series: Aramis Prequel [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: A bit sad, But he'll be fine, Gen, Kid!Aramis, Meet Aramis' mom, Prequel, Rated T for the context, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 09:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10613877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aednat_the_Fourteenth/pseuds/Aednat_the_Fourteenth
Summary: A glimpse at Aramis’ childhood.--At five years old, he lives in a world of laughter, affection and petticoats.At seven, mamá decides that it’s time for him to be a man.At nine, he begins to realize that the god he prays to is not the same as his mother’s.At ten, he starts to pick fights.At twelve, he understands he is not meant to spend his life in the house.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on ffnet in December 2016. It was my second attempt at fan fiction (I'm rewriting the first one), and my first entry for the “Fête des Mousquetaires” competition (theme: “sacrifice”).  
> A big thank to my beta Pika-la-Cynique, and to Olivia for the bit in Spanish!

At five years old, René lives in a world of laughter, affection and petticoats.

All the girls love him, and take care of him. There are other children in the house, but he’s one of the youngest boys, and the prettiest, as they keep saying, and they all play with him, or teach him new things when _mamá_ is working.

He learns to read, and write, and count, but also to match colors when he dresses, and to mend different kinds of garments… those things, he excels at. He learns a little bit of singing and drawing, fields which he does not show tremendous abilities for but enjoys anyway, and the names of all the powders and fragrances the girls use, which he does not find very interesting but some, like “ _blanc de séruse_ ” or “ _teinture de cochenille_ ”, sound funny. He also starts helping in the kitchen, which he hates but is unfortunate enough to be skilled at, so he knows that the cooks will keep asking him to give a hand with the meals and, one day, to prepare them himself. At some point, Nanette tries to teach him piano, and to call the result disappointing would be an understatement, but maybe the reason is that _she_ is a dreadful musician. He still likes hitting the keys rhythmically, and, eventually, that drives everybody so crazy that someone decides to lock the instrument and lose the key.

He also learns a lot of gossip about the town’s most influential families. He doesn’t understand most of the stories but gets very good at remembering and repeating them, and, one day, Monsieur Barat almost chokes on his coffee when he relates to him in detail the color and the shape of the thing that had sprouted on the Comte de Briant’s crotch the previous week.

Madame Clémence decides at that point that this is a respectable establishment, and some subjects should not be discussed when there are children in the room. Incidentally, she states, certain children should no longer be in certain rooms at certain times.

He understands that he has done something wrong, but the girls laugh about it when Madame Clémence isn't watching, and, some days later, even her lips turn up when she’s reminded of the incident.

It is a really fun place to grow up in.

He’s aware that this has not always been his home. He remembers a time when it was not just _mamá_ and him. There were other voices, other shapes, and the world did not smell of women's perfumes and powders, but of stew, and wood fire, and something sweet and fruity. Those smells are the only things he misses. He likes living here, amidst laughter, affection and petticoats.

xxxx

At seven, _mamá_ decides that it’s time for him to be a man. She gives him one of her benevolent smiles, carefully brushes a flyaway brown lock from her face and, in a voice that is so calm it sounds dangerous, announces: “ _Te toca hacerte hombre, hijo mio_.” Nina, the only other girl who speaks Spanish, laughs: “Have you noticed the way he already looks at us?” _Mamá_ glares, and Nina rolls her eyes and mutters: “Just saying” before resuming her stitching.

This new concern with him being manly has something to do with Nina and Sophie dressing him up like a girl, the week before, which sent _mamá_ into a very rare fury. He feels a bit guilty for having let them do so, but, at the time, he just thought it was fun to play with the powders he was usually never allowed near. Still, _mamá_ ’s angry and sad, so he’s eager to oblige with anything she has in mind.

It turns out that manning up mostly consists of learning to ride a horse with Monsieur de Louvigny, one of _mamá_ ’s regulars, and the only one who would do her the favor. He overhears something about _mamá_ having to work extra late and “accept things she usually doesn’t” to convince him, and yet the man still refuses to provide the lessons at his own domain, but he’s a very good teacher. Kind enough to be respected by an already proud boy, and strict enough to tame his rebellious nature. He provides him with a gentle mare named Flocon, gives him very clear instructions, and takes all the time necessary to correct his mistakes. It is not long before the boy becomes quite a skilled rider and, one day, after much begging, he’s allowed to take a stroll on his own.

“Don’t tell your mother”, says Monsieur de Louvigny. “And don’t go too far”.

It feels a bit wrong to lie to _mamá_ , but he doesn’t regret it. It is so good to be alone, just him and his mount, free to ride wherever he pleases – well, “not too far,” he has promised, but still, potentially, the world is his to grab. He’s never alone in the house. Either he stays in _mamá_ ’s room, to talk, or cuddle, or pray, or there’s someone wanting to play with him or give him lessons and, as much as he likes that, he can feel, now, his limbs relaxing, his breathing amplifying, his mind running free, and it has been so long without feeling such expanse it almost hurts.

At some point, Flocon is startled by a gunshot in the distance. He’s not far from the forest where the chevalier de Gensac hunts. The mare jumps a bit, he feels that she wants to run and knows he shouldn’t allow her to. She’s nervous and he’s not yet skilled enough to control her if she starts to get carried away. But he loosens his grip on the reins anyway, and she goes into a quite frantic gallop. It only takes a few minutes for her to calm down again – she really is a good horse – but the mix of controlled fear and intense satisfaction leaves him panting, a smile on his face. It is the first time he feels the thrill of living on the edge and he knows he will do whatever it takes to taste the flavor again.

After all, _mamá_ wants him to be a man.

xxxx

At nine, he begins to realize that the God he prays to is not the same as his mother’s.

His God is good and merciful and He listens. He can tell his God everything he fears and ask Him to grant him strength and wisdom and, sometimes, forgiveness.

 _Mamá_ never asks for anything. She’s all about contrition. When she prays, she moans, she cries, and she mentions damnation – that she accepts – and salvation – that she wishes for, but not for herself. Once, he woke to dull, unusual, sounds in the night and rose to check on her. She was deep in prayer. He only saw her back but it looked like she was hitting herself. He went back to bed, unable to find sleep, haunted by the vision, wondering what to say to her in the morning. When the sun had finally risen, he was dozing off, unsure of what he had witnessed, and since then the idea of mentioning anything has felt a bit ridiculous.

It is strange for him to have caught a sight of this facet of her, because she’s usually so nice, charming and friendly, despite her apparent severity. Everybody likes her. She’s helpful, she covers for the girls when they feel too dispirited to work, tells Madame Clémence that they are sick, sometimes even deals with the client and lets them have some of the money. She's the one who is naturally tasked with receiving those men who only come to this place to talk, because she is such a good listener. Some people even say she is a saint and if René knows one thing, it’s that none of the other girls have ever been called that.

And it seems that she’s so proud of him she cannot allow herself to be morose, most of the time. Now, he can read and write in French, Spanish and Latin, knows the Scriptures better than some noblemen’s sons and has developed an interest in Doctor Saclet’s work. Six months ago, there was a flu epidemic, and he was very frustrated not being allowed to watch the man while he treated the sick. Five people died, including Rémi, a younger boy he liked very much. And Pauline, one of his best friends among the children, the only one who’s almost as reckless and cheeky as he is, the one he goes poaching with, nearly didn’t make it. He felt guilty for not having been there to comfort them. When he told _mamá_ , she said he would be a good priest, and he still fails to see the connection.

But, again, the God he prays to is not the same as his mother’s.

xxxx

At ten, he starts to pick fights.

When _mamá_ tells him how disappointed she is, Madame Clémence says that it is only strange it had not happened earlier. He’s not sure how he is supposed to take the statement, but it doesn’t sound that depreciating, so he decides that he doesn't care and leaves the room while the two women argue.

The truth is, he does not want his mother to know he’s gotten this black eye, bleeding nose and split lip defending her. So, without thinking, he told her it was over a girl, because that’s what the older boys usually say to explain their own bruises. But he’s not sure this lame excuse could resist a closer questioning.

The lout he fought had tried to insult him and, when the jeers failed to get their target's attention – he was with Pauline and Guillaume, on their way to buy pastries at a shop that had just opened, and nothing could compete with their eagerness – decided to call **her** names instead. “Whore” was the nicest of them.

It is a truth that goes unvoiced that _mamá_ ’s not in her prime anymore. She still has clients, but they are different. They are looking for a certain type of woman. Older, more experienced… And they are asking for a certain kind of… practice. The kind she didn’t indulge in less than two years ago. Nevertheless, “a body has to eat”, she says. So it doesn’t matter if she’s not as smiling and pretty as she used to be. Doesn’t matter that she has shadows under her eyes and wrinkles that speak not only of years but also of lassitude, sadness and disgust. The only thing that does matter is that she earns enough to put food on the table and pay for her son’s education. Now, he wants to learn how to use a sword and how to shoot with a weapon more appropriate than his handmade slingshot and, even if she despises violence, she knows what world they live in and she would rather give him the opportunity to defend himself.

He feels bad about what she puts herself through, but also guilty for feeling bad because he is not the victim, here. He’s the one reaping the benefits of the situation. So maybe that’s why he lashed out so violently at Henri and his friends.

He’s satisfied, but not proud of having broken Henri’s nose. He knows he’s supposed to turn the other cheek, and he’s vaguely aware that he has, somehow, given the lad what he wanted.

To a certain extent, that is. Henri is thirteen. Not very muscular, but thirteen anyway, and he certainly did not expect to get his ass kicked by a younger boy and need his cronies to come to his aid. No doubt he would think twice about provoking René again, or Pauline and Guillaume for that matter, because they had also hit the bullies with a punch or two when it became obvious that their friend would not be able hold out against the three of them on his own.

His head is still throbbing from the beating, but he spends the day in the forest with Pauline anyway. He shows her how to fish with her bare hands, and then they set snares, hoping to catch a hare or two by the morning. He is not so naive as to believe the conversation with his mother is over, though, and, when they get back, a bit later than usual, she is not working. She just says: “My room. Now,” and he’s so grateful she’s not shouting that he meekly follows and lets her give him a piece of her mind, not interrupting a single time. Little by little, he realizes that she knows. He supposes Guillaume has told. He’s a nice boy, but has never handled pressure very well.

“You don’t have to defend my honor.”

They usually speak Spanish when they are together, but now, she uses French. He guesses that it’s because she hopes to be overheard. As secret as what happens between these walls is supposed to remain, said walls are thin. She goes on:

“I am not ashamed of what I do, and neither should you be!”

He almost shouts: “I’m not!”

He’s not ashamed of her, he will never be and it kills him she might think otherwise. She’s the bravest, kindest and smartest person he knows, and people should notice it. Someone should make them notice if they don’t.

“I chose this path,” she insists. “I had other options but this one provides us with more money, more opportunities, and maybe more respect than a lifetime of scouring dishes for a master who’d have taken the same from me as these men do, without paying for it! I’m an unwed woman and I knew what to expect when I gave in to your father. I’ve never complained, never wallowed in self-pity, and never once”, she adds, touching his cheek gently despite the harshness of her tone, “regretted anything. Do you understand?”

He nods, but her eyes say that is not enough, so he speaks: “I understand.” And, then: “I’m sorry.”

He is sorry indeed, but not for the fight. He’s sorry he has made her talk to him about her job, and mention his father, which she usually never does, and that makes him want to break more noses. So he decides that, next time he picks a fight, he will be alone and make sure nobody reports the reasons for the incident.

xxxx

At twelve, he understands he’s not meant to spend his life in the house.

It started to become problematic some months ago, as the way he looks at the girls has changed from carefully curious to openly interested. One would suppose that growing up in such a place would render a boy immune to uncontrolled manifestations of lust, and sometimes it did, but not in his case. Most of the male children of his age have already left. Some are learning a job, in taverns, in the fields, or the craft of some artisan. However, his mother insists that he stays a little longer. She says that there are still things he needs to learn here. He is not sure what.

Monsieur de Louvigny died last year, so he doesn’t ride anymore, and nobody's been willing to teach him to shoot or to use a sword except Charles, the youngest son of the chevalier de Villebois, who  quickly gave up when he realized René was on his way to become better than him.

He considers soldiering, even knowing that his mother would disapprove, because that would satisfy his taste for adventure, but he wonders if he has it in him to follow orders. He still thinks about the priesthood, because he loves God and he’s aware there is something of a scholar in him, but the life of a recluse is not appealing. He wants to be among people and share their joys and troubles. At one point, he wonders if Doctor Saclet would take the old whore’s son as an apprentice but, deep down, he knows it is futile to even ask.

So he cooks for the girls, he wrestles with the boys, he prays, he picks fights and he is bored.

And, one day, he comes back from the river where he has been seeing the miller’s daughter – she has allowed him to kiss her, like she allows almost everyone, actually, but she’s been sweet and generous and he respects her for it – and, on his path but still safely two hundred meters from the house, there is a man waiting for him.

He’s tall, with brown eyes and ink-black hair. He must be over forty but is quite handsome and René guesses he was a very beautiful young man. He looks strict, a bit like the Lutherans who were at the fair, some months ago. He wears dark clothes that seem nice enough and has a sword by his side. His face is graven with deep wrinkles that seem engrossed  in his face and makes one wonder how long it has been since he smiled, but he does not look mean-spirited. He has crossed paths with men like this before. Minor yet proud nobility, he guesses. Not much money but a great deal of principles.

His mother is there, too, standing carefully behind the stranger. He cannot remember ever seen her looking so humble and modest. It is highly disturbing. And there is more. Is it sadness? Has she been crying?

The man steps forward and he can smell him. He smells like stew, and wood fire, and something sweet and fruity. His heart skips a beat at the memory.

“This is Monsieur d’Herblay,” says his mother. When she adds: “He’s your father”, he wants to answer: “I know” but there’s no point.

He realizes the man has come to take him away. He realizes he should protest. He has no desire to leave his mother, but that’s all that keeps him here. Maybe she could come with them. Maybe they could be a family again or, if that’s too much to hope for, she could settle in a small cottage, not far from their home...

He almost shakes his head when he realizes the stupidity of the idea. There’s a reason why they ended up here in the first place. And now, it occurs to him that he has never asked. Did his parents love each other? Was it a secret liaison? Did he promise her anything? Did they plan to get married and his family refused because she was just a Spanish farm girl? Did he get bored and chase her off? Was it because of his birth? He has never asked.

He has never asked because it would have hurt her. She probably would not have answered anyway. She has never lived in the past. But he wants to know. He wants to know and he has never asked because he thought he had time but now it’s too late, he fears he will never have the chance again, and, of course, he could ask _him_ , but he doesn’t trust him, he was never there, never wanted him and never loved her enough to be by her side when she needed him most and he hates him for that and he wants to run away but he does not.

Later, in the small coach, on the bench facing his, his father will say: “That's a great sacrifice she’s made, your mother. For you.” But there will be no respect in his voice. There will be sternness, disapproval, and maybe a little bit of contempt. That is when he’ll know for sure that, whatever happens, he will never love the man.

But he will learn what he has to offer, and, later, come back for his mother. Take her out of the house if she wants it, support her if she does not. He has no idea what he will become, yet he owes it to her to make something of his life. Whatever it is, he will be true to himself, because that’s what she always wanted, and she has worked so hard for it.

In the meantime, he’ll miss her dearly. But he knows he was not meant to spend his life in the house.


End file.
